I hate cleaning. Wow, it feels good to get that off my chest. Again. For the fiftieth time today. Even though you all already know this. I am well aware of the necessity for cleaning and while I am untidy I am certainly not filthy – food waste isn’t left lying around and I bathe regularly, for example. But I am untidy, arguably (definitely) unclean.
But seeing as it’s been an amount of time I’m not going to publically divulge since I last properly tidied my flat (clue: I still liked Switzerland back then), and seeing as I have at least one friend finally fucking visiting me this weekend, I thought it about time to give the place a once over.
It took me two hours to do two small rooms in this place. I hazard to think how long the main room will take me, especially as it’s clearly in need of the most work.
But I know people who like tidying, and I don’t get it. I get a bizarre pleasure from scraping dirt off of things, or wiping something covered in dust down until it is no longer dusty, but when it comes to tidying? Nah, I’d rather just not bother. Laziness? Yep. Illogical? Certainly. Do I care? A little bit.
Another thing that annoys me about tidying, aside from all the other bits I haven’t actually mentioned, is the fact you have to put stuff places. See, I have a lot of crap and only so many places to put it. When I’m supposed to be tidying I’m actually just messing stuff up by piling lots of stuff into a place where just moments earlier there was not so much stuff. IT’S WEIRD.
Fuck tidying. Waste of time. I’ll pay someone to do it for me. Well, I won’t. But still. Eff it in the A.